


mr. loverman

by crimsonheadache



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Hermione Granger, Draco Has Good Taste in Music, Draco Malfoy Has a Crush, Drinking, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Human Disaster Seamus Finnigan, Inspired by Music, Karaoke, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Muggle Culture, Oblivious Harry Potter, Pining, Playlist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:01:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27474691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonheadache/pseuds/crimsonheadache
Summary: Harry was on several missions this year at Hogwarts.The most vital one: finding out who his mystery song-sender is.Oh... and figuring out what the hell has gotten into Malfoy while he's at it.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas
Comments: 17
Kudos: 188
Collections: Harry/Draco Owlpost 2020





	mr. loverman

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GallifreyisBurning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GallifreyisBurning/gifts).



> Prompt: _“Communicating through playlists/exchange of songs somehow”_. 
> 
> Han, I genuinely hope you like it! I’m so excited for you to read and listen 🤗 it’s truly been so much fun finding songs for this fic, & writing it! I highly recommend listening to the playlist listed either before/during, or after reading to get the full effect! (If you would rather have the Spotify link instead of the YouTube one listed below, I can give it to you privately after reveals!) 💚🎁
> 
> PS - I found out you go by Han, and so do I!!! So here’s a gift: from one Han to the next! 💚🎁
> 
> a huge thank you to my lovely betas!: [Aly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harleybarley/pseuds/Harleybarley), [Erebeus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erebeus/pseuds/Erebeus), & [Orange_Coyote](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orange_Coyote/pseuds/Orange_Coyote)!  
> ❤️  
> 

[mr. loverman playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLQ8oq7XztEMIpsnZx62pUeU89gTK9NF26)

***

_Weep little lion man,_  
_You're not as brave as you were at the start_  
_Rate yourself and rake yourself,_  
_Take all the courage you have left_  
_Wasted on fixing all the problems that you made in your head_

“What the hell does that even mean?” Harry muttered to himself, clearly agitated, as he stared down at the mobile in his hand. He chewed his inner cheek to smithereens in contemplation as the lyrics kept repeating in his ears, unaware of the inner turmoil they had been causing their listener for the past few hours.

“Oi, give it up, mate. I bet whoever keeps sending you these songs is just trying to mess with you,” Ron said through a mouthful of pudding as they sat at dinner in the Great Hall, Hermione staring warily at him. She had learned long ago that there was nothing she could do to come between Ron and his food.

“Besides, it’s kinda witty, innit? ‘Little Lion Man’? A Gryffindor nod, I suspect.” Ron bobbed his head with a satisfied grin as if he had just solved all of Harry’s problems with that simple statement and dived in for more pudding.

“How original.” Ginny snickered into her bowl, and Ron managed to give her the finger between his massive bites of food. 

“Thanks, mate, would’ve never guessed that one without your help,” Harry replied as he kept one earbud in, half-listening to the music and half pretending to pay attention to his friend’s conversation around him.

McGonagall and some of the other professors thought it a good idea to give out Muggle-type phones to all the students this year to help facilitate a new hands-on learning process for the students and bridge the gap between the Muggle and Wizarding world. 

Since the War ended last year, a slow integration with the Muggle world had started trickling through; even some of their past classmates had elected to live in the Muggle world rather than coming back to Hogwarts for their final year.

The Muggle Studies professor was over the moon about this development.

Harry hadn’t been sure of what to think about it at first.

Thankfully, he and Ron had Hermione to help them out through the original muggle technology barriers from the get-go. Eventually, all the students at Hogwarts were on their phones non-stop. Harry often had to stop some of the younger years from running right into him in the halls from not paying attention to where they were walking, too enamored with their handheld devices.

You couldn’t call someone else on the magical phones unlike standard muggle phones, but they allowed the user to listen to music, for example.

There was a little port where you could plug in a headset and listen to whatever kind of music your heart desired. You could also send songs to anyone in the school, which Harry found out from his “secret songstress” - as Seamus likes to call them.

“But what if they’re a man?” Harry asked the last time Seamus had mentioned it during one game night in the common rooms.

Pure concentration marred Seamus’ features. “Songstro?”

Harry hit him upside the head with a pillow.

What Harry found the most maddening was the fact that most students had paired a nickname to their device, unwilling to put out their real name. McGonagall had mentioned on the first day of classes that anonymity might be a good thing anyway in the beginning as they tested out the new technology. 

Harry reluctantly did so as well, choosing the name ‘Prongs,’ since it was easy enough for him to remember, and he figured other students wouldn’t realize it was him to the point of being bombarded with ridiculous messages, and Merlin knew what else twenty-four-seven on his device.

He knew of a few younger girls (and boys) right off the bat who would love nothing more than to spam his phone with love songs and extended essay formatted messages daily on how cherished he was to the wizarding world. 

He wouldn’t even be surprised if some of them tried to send him some virtual Amortentia as well.

All he had to worry about at first was Seamus spamming him with what the Muggles apparently called “memes.” He ended up blocking his number within the first forty-eight hours.

But then the anonymous songs started appearing for Harry.

Every morning, he would wake up to a new song from the same person, using the moniker _Typhon_. 

Ever since the first song came in on his mobile, Harry had rapidly started to become obsessed with the little device, listening to the new songsas he received them on repeat. He also found it hard to turn off once classes began; it was almost a little treat for him as he walked to classes. 

Sometimes, Hermione noticed and threatened to hex him if he didn’t stop it and pay attention during lessons. 

Harry unwillingly would then stash his phone away, feeling the warmth of it through the pocket of his robe, his hands itching to grab it again and hide under the table to check for any new messages. 

Frankly, all he wanted to do recently was lie in bed, watch the leaves fall outside his window, and listen as the words played around in his head, falling asleep to the soft melodies. 

Sadly he had school and finicky friends (Hermione) that got in his way.

***

_My black eye casts no shadow_  
 _Your red eye sees nothing_  
 _Your slap don't stick_  
 _Your kicks don't hit_  
 _So we remain the same_  
 _Love sticks_  
 _Sweat drips_  
 _Break the lock if it don't fit_

“A kick to the teeth is good for some; a kiss with a fist is better than none?” Hermione repeated the lyrics rather loudly, as Harry shared one of his earbuds, wincing at her volume from where he sat beside her in the Eighth Year’s common room. 

Ron’s mouth pursed in thought, “Sounds like they’re tryin’ to tell you something there. Has anyone here ever punched you in the face?”

Most, if not all, of the people sitting at the table, turned their heads to where Draco Malfoy was sitting with some other Slytherins, finishing up on some homework by the looks of it. Harry, not paying a speck of attention, kept his eyes solely on his phone as the song played out to the end.

“Why don’t you send them a text? Ask them who they are?” Seamus shrugged as if that was the most obvious answer there was.

Harry’s brows drew together in confusion. “What’s that?” 

Hermione popped in, “A text is a Muggle message, including words. Similar to sending someone a letter via owl, but the receiver gets it instantly.”

Harry frowned, not liking that idea at all, his heart beating sporadically in his chest at the thought of speaking with Typhon with actual words. He much preferred the song lyrics they had going at the moment. 

Nah, I think I like the idea of the chase. I think I’ll stick to the songs they’ve been sending, for now, try to figure out who they are from that.”

“And then what’re you gonna do if you find out who it is?” Neville questioned, his mouth twitching in amusement. Blinking a few times as he stared down at his phone, Harry mulled it over for a few seconds. “I don’t know, probably erm- well...I don’t know.”

Standing up from the table, Harry wanted nothing more than to go to his room and replay the songs he’d been sent over and over and leave his friend’s curious glances. “I just can’t overthink it. That won’t help me in the slightest anyway. Just have to trust my instinct with this.”

His mates all nodded as he made his leave for the night, whispering under their breath as he left. Harry could have sworn he heard Dean whisper something about ‘oblivious wanker’ on his way up to bed.

***

Harry did, in fact, overthink it.

Whenever a new song was sent his way, he would make excuses to skivvy off to the library or the Quidditch pitch right after classes to listen to the lyrics over and over, sometimes making notes of what it could mean in his notebook.

After a few weeks of this, Ron started to think he was barmy, and Harry suspected the rest of them thought the same, but he didn’t particularly mind. Everyone seemed to be doing their own thing this year, which left Harry to his own devices.

It gave him an excellent outlet to sit and think without Ron and Seamus badgering him consistently.

_I wear this crown of shit_  
_Upon my liar’s chair_  
_Full of broken thoughts_  
_I cannot repair_  
_Beneath the stains of time_  
_The feelings disappear_  
_You are someone else_  
_I am still right here_

Today’s song was different than usual. More gloomy and dark. Harry sat and pondered this song for a while as he sat on the Quidditch bleachers. 

It almost made him want to find whoever was sending him these songs and go full Hufflepuff on them and give them a hug. 

The autumn wind was blowing rather chilly in his face as the lyrics seeped into his bones in the same cold way, different from the other songs preceding it.

He wasn’t sure what to make of it if he was quite honest, but somewhere deep inside him. He felt like this meant something to someone. Whoever it was that was sending him all these bloody songs that was. It had to mean something real

_Typhon_

He had read up on that particular name, per Hermione’s suggestion early on. But nothing came up of interest or any specific meaning. To his dismay, he couldn’t even find any other languages where the name appeared, even after spending an extra three hours in the library. 

When the last hour was up, he slammed the previous book shut and turned back to his music, clearly offending Madam Pince.

He had managed to get Hermione to help with researching for a bit, to Ron’s exasperation, investigating as much as she could on the name. At one point, Hermione had a look of pure exasperation on her face as she sat across from him. 

“Erm - Harry?”

Harry hummed in response as he scanned one book that went over old names from centuries ago pertaining to Italian descendants in the wizarding world, with no luck finding a Typhon listed thus far. 

She plopped a rather hefty book next to him, and his eyes finally met her rather annoyed ones. 

“What?”

Hermione huffed under her breath and muttered something Harry couldn't hear before standing up from her seat. “I’m quite finished for the night; I would recommend reading this when you get a second. I think you will find it...enlightening.”

As she walked from their table and out the door, Harry felt a surge of his own annoyance at her sudden evasiveness. 

He peered down at the book in question and groaned; it had to be upwards of 900+ pages. He read the title: _A History of Mythologies: Roman & Greek_, and groaned loudly, Madam Pince shushing him once again. 

He shucked the heavy as hell book in his bag, and left the library, done for the night, and certainly not looking forward to reading up on Mythologies. He figured he might even prefer going to ask Trelawny for help rather than open up that ridiculously sized book.  


Hermione was barking as if she thought he was going to read that whole thing anyway.

***

_Don't be so sentimental, no_  
 _This love was accidental, so_  
 _Give it up; this was never meant to be_  
 _More than a memory for you_

 _This was an interesting song choice_. Harry mulled the different possible meanings in his head, his eyes closed, lying on his bed one morning before breakfast, listening intently. 

His mind wouldn’t stop whirling with the sudden possibilities of who this could be.

Someone who loved or _loves_ him, perhaps? Someone who had a romantic relationship with him in the past and was trying to get back in his arms?

Harry then began thinking of Typhon as a real person rather than a figment of his imagination.

Ginny was an obvious no. If Harry were to even think of asking her if she was Typhon, she would hex him so hard with the worst Bat-Bogey he could imagine.

Cho couldn’t be it either and thank Merlin for that. This year she skipped out on school, deciding to take up her uncle’s business and get on with a career of her own.

Not that it couldn’t be others; there were plenty of students who would do whatever necessary to send the savior of the wizarding world a few love songs. But the thought of Typhon being some random lonely Second Year girl made Harry extremely uncomfortable.

But deep down, Harry knew this wasn’t some random young girl with a silly crush. These lyrics were too thoughtful for that.

Unless Ron was right, and this person truly had him on.

_I'm gonna break your little heart_  
_Watch you take the fall_  
_Laughing all the way to the hospital_

_Well, that’s just rude_ , Harry thought with a frown as he stared at the ceiling of his room, the song still ringing in his ears. Maybe he shouldn’t want to figure out who is sending these damned songs to him anyway if they were going to keep sending him songs like that.

He replayed the song for the fourth time in a row.

He ended up being late to class that day.

***

The next morning, Harry tried not to scowl down at his mobile’s blank screen. He had to rub a hand over his face to remind himself that he didn’t even know who the person was and needed to relax.

Even though he had been getting them on the regular every day for the past month, his chest hurt as he considered the possibility that maybe Typhon was tired of him.

He roughly brushed his teeth, made his way down early to the Great Hall, and plopped down at the Gryffindor table with a huff. He managed to find a spare second to look up from his (still songless) device to scoop some eggs onto his plate.

His eyes caught grey ones from across the Great Hall, and he almost dropped the egg spatula.

Malfoy was staring his way with an arched eyebrow, and for some reason, Harry had a feeling that he had been watching him since he came through the entrance. 

Harry raised an eyebrow of his own in retaliation, knowing full and well it wasn’t as articulately and gracefully done as Malfoy himself.

Malfoy’s lips thinned when he realized Harry wasn’t planning on dropping his eyes and backing down, finally breaking the moment between them himself, to Harry’s silent relief. A few tense seconds later, Malfoy then decided to grab his satchel and head towards the exit.

Harry watched as the blond left the Great Hall, feeling slightly itchy. Feeling like all the air left his body as if Malfoy took it all with him when he left. 

A few seconds after the doors swung to a close Harry heard a small ding from his device, and he found that all the sudden he could breathe again, his chest feeling lighter.

It was a new song from Typhon.

***

_Hold you down and tear you open, live inside you, love_  
 _I'd never hurt you_  
 _But I'll grind against your bones until our marrows mix_  
 _I will eat you slowly…_

“Erm - are you sure this person isn’t trying to kidnap you and eat your brain?” Hermione implored, eyebrows high on her forehead as she listened to Typhon’s newest song at Harry’s insistence.

Ron only snickered, and Harry turned the sound off its speaker setting. 

It was infuriating, how it was almost as if the unknown sender was trying to tell Harry something in song lyrics. Which, if Harry thought about it, he would realize that sounded mad even to him.

“Mr. Potter! Please take those blasted earbuds out; if I have to send you to Headmistress McGonagall again for overusing your device, she won’t be pleased.” Professor Slughorn groused, clearly not having a good day himself, sighing something along the lines of “ruddy contraptions” and “back in my day-.”

It was probably close to the sixth time Slughorn had caught him listening to his music; the fourth time, he was sent to McGonagall and only received one of the strongest eye-rolls he had ever witnessed, along with a biscuit.

Harry did stuff his phone and earbuds into his robes’ pocket and felt oddly watched once again. He looked up and saw Malfoy glancing back at him from his table in the very front, that same look he had earlier in the Great Hall plastered on his pointy face.

Caught unaware, Harry blinked once, and the side of Malfoy’s mouth tilted up as if he was trying not to smirk before he caught himself and turned around in his seat.

That was another thing on Harry’s growing list of oddities occurring this year. 

Draco Malfoy.

Rather than his usual prattish demeanor, Malfoy seemed much more at ease this semester. Calmer. Less likely to poison or _Crucio_ you if you will.

He was sure Malfoy was still a prat, but Harry wasn’t always making sure folks around him knew about his prattishness or stalking him as he had done in years past.

Perhaps the War had changed more people for the better than he realized.

He did have bigger things to think about, though. Number one on his list: finding out who was sending him these sodding songs.

“You know - you could just send them a song back,” Dean offered as he played his turn in Exploding Snap back in the common room later that evening.

Harry bit the inside of his cheek as he pondered what song he could possibly send, his heart doing its stupid fluttering in his chest again. It had been doing that far too often for Harry’s liking as of recent.

“I don’t know. The only problem with that is, well, I wasn’t brought up around Muggle music. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

From across the table, Seamus almost spat out his Butterbeer in excitement. “Mate! Why didn’t you say anything?! You know my dad is a -”

“Muggle.”

“A Muggle! We know.”

Around the table, everyone nodded and groaned under their breaths, a few sniggering.

Seamus only stuck his tongue out at the lot before continuing. “My dad loves Muggle music. I grew up with the best kind of stuff and can help you out here. But it depends on what kind of vibe you want to go with. There are _so many_ genres of stuff out there.”

Harry chewed on his inner cheek harder. “Erm - I’m not sure. Nothing too crazy or too harsh. Or too in your face, know what I mean?”

“Or too: _I will kill your friends and family and serve them for our dinner_.” Hermione deadpanned.

He remembered the last song from his mystery sender and nodded sagely.

“Maybe something lighter, happier?”

Seamus crossed his arms, his eyes lost in thought for a few moments - when an idea sprang on him a few seconds later, his eyes gleaming.

“I know _just_ the song! My da’ loves it, says it got ‘im, and my mum together.”

Harry wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, but he figured he might as well give it a shot.

***

He was never taking Seamus’s advice ever again.

His mystery sender was so abhorrently offended by Seamus’s choice of song he sent that he sent Harry back three songs in a row, all with lyrics of how stupid and ridiculously pigheaded he was.

_Fertilizer_  
_I'll take bullshit if that's all you got_  
_Some fertilizer_  
_Fertilizer_

Short, sweet, and to the point. Harry could appreciate that at least.

_I don't fuck with you_  
_You little stupid ass bitch, I ain't fuckin' with you_  
_You little, you little dumb ass bitch, I ain't fuckin' with you_  
_I got a million trillion things I'd rather fuckin' do_  
_Than to be fuckin' with you_

That one unquestionably got their point across...

The last song he received, aptly named: _Go Fuck Yourself_

His mystery person clearly wasn’t a Cher fan, and Harry was going to murder Finnigan in his sleep.

That last song also got Harry feeling hot under the collar so he had to stop playing it while hanging with his mates so that nobody would notice his reddened cheeks. These lyrics were the most provocative of all of them thus far.

_Fucked and drank all night_  
_Acted all alright_  
_Had no need to fight_  
_Tonight, tonight_

Once he finally got around to listening to the blasted song in question, he couldn’t blame Typhon for sending all the hate his way.

The song really was atrocious. He wasn’t sure who Cher was, but they could kiss his arse for all he cared.

Harry spent the rest of his day in his room in proper form, moping about until sleep finally got him.

It was around two in the morning when a new ping woke him up from a restless sleep, and his eyes lit up in the bright light his mobile was giving off. It was a new song. Harry instantly grabbed his headphones and started listening.

_But I just can't help myself_  
_There's no one else trapped in a cell_  
_'Cause all I think about is you_  
_And I don't know what to do_

Harry grinned into his pillow as he drifted off to sleep to the lovely melody flowing in his ears.

***

Next Thursday evening after classes, Ron convinced Harry to go out with Seamus, Dean, and him to a new bar that opened up after the War called the Singing Banshee, right next to the Three Broomsticks.

“Come on, mate! It’ll take our minds off of all the blasted studying. Don’t tell ‘Mione, but she’s been busting my balls with the number of times she's forced me to study with her in the bloody library. I’ve had to think I’m dating Pince!”

Harry snorted at that but decided to indulge Ron, agreeing to the night out. 

Seamus was harder to convince - considering the previous night, he and Dean had decided to pull out the bottle of firewhiskey they kept for special occasions and took it upon themselves to down the whole thing.

Later that night they had all had their mobiles out, recording Seamus singing Dean a Celestina Warbeck classic.

Harry just figured pub night was a ploy of Ron to get him to take his earbuds out for longer than half an hour and actually interact with society.

When they walked through the doors of the place, he certainly was not expecting to see Draco Malfoy taking shot after shot at the bar, surrounded by Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, and a few other Slytherins that Harry didn’t recognize.

Ron and the rest of his gang hadn’t noticed, or maybe they had noticed but didn’t bring it up, as they found a seat close to the back of the bar where there was a dusty looking stage with a Muggle looking microphone.

“Oi! Is this that bloody karaoke bar you keep talking non-stop about?” Dean yelled to Seamus over the crowd’s noise, who was looking entirely too smug for his liking. 

“Mate - this place is ace. I came here with Neville and Hannah just last week. I swear the bartenders here put somethin’ special in your drink that gives you that extra oomph to go on up there. You should’ve seen Neville mates, fuckin’ barmy bastard was goin’ all out on that stage. Singin’ one of those songs he found from that bloody phone music app thing Harry’s obsessed with.”

Looking down at his drink, Harry wasn’t sure if he was fearful for the night to come or looking forward to the atrocities of what could only be drunk Hogwarts students singing off-key as if their lives depended on it.

These magical phones had everyone going insane this year, it seemed.

“I think I have enough _umph_ without all that,” Dean said wryly, still finishing off his Firewhiskey and setting off again to the bar for refills for everyone.

“Oh, you sure do.” Seamus wiggled his eyebrows at his boyfriend, and Dean rolled his eyes and grinned in response. Ron only fake gagged at them both.

Harry wasn’t paying them much mind, as he looked up from his butterbeer, watching Malfoy levitate a plate full of multi-colored shots to another table where his Slytherin comrades were waiting.

He blinked and grabbed his new drink from Seamus. 

“Cheers, mates.”

Seamus whooped and clicked his glass with Ron, and Harry smiled, clinking with his new drink. “To a normal final year at Hogwarts!”

_“Yeah, right!”_

They all laughed heartily at that and drank deeply before falling into a conversation about the Quidditch teams at Hogwarts this year.

And the drinks kept coming, mainly thanks to Seamus, who was apparently on a mission to get them just as pissed tonight as he had been last night.

Harry kept finding his eyes drifting between his mates, who were complaining about Gryffindor’s quidditch team, to Malfoy and his lot across the bar. Harry took in Malfoy’s unusually pleasing demeanor as his expression broke into a wry grin at whatever it was Zabini was going on about. 

His usually pointy and pale face was - well, still sharp as ever -but his cheeks were adorned with pink spots, and his eyes were a mix of mischievous and tipsy as he laughed infectiously.

Harry found himself smiling unconsciously as he watched. At least he wasn’t staring at his mobile all night, which had been Ron’s goal all along. 

The loud ruckus in the background took on a more deafening crescendo as some drunk man wobbled up to the mic, breaking him from his reverie. 

“It’s _time_!” Seamus drunkenly whispered loudly, as the sounds around the bar went down a couple of notches, awaiting whatever horrible sound was going to emit from the man’s throat above them.

And horrendous it was, Harry thought, laughing out loud at the performance with Dean, Seamus, and Ron cackling beside him too. 

But at one point in the night, the singers became less funny and more obnoxious, and Harry had a strong urge to pull out his wand and stun his eardrums clear out of his head as the next few singers stepped up.

One could only drink so much to put up with such tuneless drivel.

He decided when the woman with the fairy nest on her head began singing a Muggle song about a man named Sargent Pepper that it was time for another round of shots for the table. 

Or twenty.

While he was waiting at the bar for the shots to get poured, desperately trying to tune out the end of the woman’s screech, he heard a rather loud commotion coming from Malfoy’s table and looked up to see him not there - only that’s when he realized -

Harry turned the rest of the way around, ignoring the shots placed before him to look at Malfoy, who was currently strutting up on the stage as if he owned it, his gait strong and sure, as if he hadn’t just downed three lemon drops in a row.

Not that Harry would know...it’s not as though he had been casually eyeing his table all night.

Yet there the git was, adjusting the mic to his height. And Harry unabashedly took his fill of the scene unfolding in front of him, excitement pooling in his stomach in a way that made him squirm.

He was dressed in a rather expensive looking burgundy coat, which he slid off and meticulously folded before placing it gently on a chair on the stage, straightening out his grey shirt and matching slacks.

The color reminded Harry of Malfoy’s eyes, which were now staring directly his way. He stared stupidly back, his friend’s shots in his hands as he precariously made his way back to his seat with an awkward shuffle.

The bar went completely silent, as almost all eyes were on Malfoy. 

But Malfoy’s grey, calculating ones were still stuck to Harry, almost reminding Harry of Second Year at the dueling club, the fiery expression echoing from back then. 

Except for this time the gaze was filled with less cruel intentions and more curiosity.

Harry grimaced as Seamus hollered across the table to him, thanking him for the shots, as he then went on to complain about why we had to sit here and be forced to listen to this soon to be “garbage.”

Harry caught the smirk that erupted on Malfoy’s face at Seamus’ words and had an urge to look away but found he couldn’t.

He was just as mesmerized as the other patrons in the bar.

Malfoy motioned to the left, where Pansy was standing by the music contraption. She raised one brow back in understanding, and with one short nod, the music started. 

Harry wasn’t quite sure what was going to happen, and he had a sudden chill of embarrassment for Malfoy who hadn’t even begun singing! 

But he was convinced that the next three minutes would be like nothing he had ever experienced in his life, for better or for worse.

The way Seamus was cat-calling at Malfoy made Harry want to strangle him and hide under the table.

His voice started right as the music did; there was no warning for Harry to get settled at all (or hide) before Malfoy opened his mouth and began singing.

Singing rather… _good_.

Excellent, in fact.

Seamus’s mouth that had been open ready to either cat-call again or laugh his arse off, promptly froze in place as Malfoy began to swing his hips to the beat and croon the first verse of the song.

The music started intensely, but Malfoy seemed to know all the words by heart as he sang out into the microphone strong and sure, not missing a single beat. Harry was pretty sure his jaw had dropped down to the table, but there was no way he was moving an inch.

_“As she sheds her skin on stage, I'm seated and sweating to a dance song on the club's P.A. The strip joint veteran sits two away smirking between dignified sips of his dignified peach and lime daiquiri.”_

“Is he singing about a strip club?” Dean mouthed to Harry from across the table, and Harry could only shrug helplessly, his eyes glued to the scene before him.

_“And isn't this exactly where you'd like me, I'm exactly where you'd like me, you know. Praying for love in a lap dance and paying in naivety. Oh, and isn't this exactly where you'd like me. I'm exactly where you'd like me, you know. Praying for love in a lap dance and paying in naivety.”_

He sauntered his way around the stage like he owned the whole establishment, and folks were getting on their feet, dancing and clapping in time to his voice and the music in the background.

Harry felt his whole body heat up; the shots must have just hit him in one fell swoop. His vision wavered as the bright lights illuminated Malfoy’s figure from the stage.

_“Well I'm afraid that I...well that's right - well I may have faked it, and I wouldn't be caught dead in this place.”_

“Bloody hell. Could his trousers be any tighter?” Seamus pondered aloud breathily as he feasted his eyes on Malfoy. 

Instead of his usual response to Seamus ogling other men and commenting on them, Dean only nodded along with his boyfriend, both men’s gazes glued to Malfoy’s swaying arse as if their lives depended on it.

Ron’s jaw was practically hitting the table; it was hanging open so wide.

But Harry paid them no mind at all at this point; in fact, he was pretty confident that if Voldemort rose from the dead and Apparated into their presence, demanding a duel to the death, he still wouldn’t look away from Malfoy’s - erm, everything.

Harry stared, fascinated as Malfoy grabbed the mic off the stand at one point and belted out a long note to end the song before bowing to the crowd - some of which had decided to flock in front of the stage, and Harry could have sworn he saw a girl try to reach out and grab the sod.

He waved to his fans, as he placed his mic back before strutting back to his own table where his group was hooting out their own praises.

Harry twitched in his seat as he watched Malfoy sit back down at his booth, grey eyes catching his own for a split second before Harry quickly glanced down at the empty glasses at their table. 

“Did we just enter a fantastic alternate universe where Draco Malfoy can sing and has an arse for days?” Ron choked on his drink and punched Seamus in the arm as the drunken man laughed so hard, he practically fell out of his chair. “Someone pinch me!”

Harry kept relatively silent for the remainder of the night as he watched his mates get progressively drunker as the evening wore on into nightfall. 

He pulled out his mobile, his attentions shifting back and forth from checking it every so often for any new songs and eyeing Malfoy’s table across the way to make sure he wasn’t missing anything important there either.

He bristled after his umpteenth time checking on the Slytherins. He felt as though Malfoy knew he was watching him if his ever-growing smirk was any tell.

He wanted to hex himself for being so blatantly obvious. 

After the Gryffindors had all (mostly drunkenly) made it back before curfew, Harry lay in his bed, his thumb tapping impatiently on his phone as he fell asleep, waiting for a new song to appear.

***

“Alright, students! For the next potion we will go over, I am going to need you to partner up. The only stipulation, you must choose someone from a different house! Inter-house bonding!”

Harry heard Ron sigh in defeat beside him as he trodded slowly to Michael Corner in the back to partner up with him.

By the time Harry had put his headphones away and his phone in a place away from harm, he looked up to see there was only one person left for him to partner with.

Malfoy had his back to him as he had already started cutting up the necessary ingredients for today’s potion, so Harry swallowed his pride and strutted over, attempting to ooze confidence he wasn’t feeling.

His mind was stuck on the Malfoy from last weekend, all free and wild, uninhibited on the stage. His tight leather trousers and the way they seemed to have been painted over his -

“Ouch!”

Reeling back and grabbing his elbow with a tight grip, Harry exhaled a breath of air he had been holding. 

“Have you still not learned how to properly walk without running into things, Potter?” Malfoy asked, clearly unimpressed, his eyes never leaving the cauldron in front of him as he stirred the potion delicately.

Ignoring the jibe, Harry muttered a balming spell on his elbow before taking the spot to Malfoy’s left, staring down into the violet-colored potion. “Looks about right. How do you already have it almost done?”

Malfoy’s jaw ticked as he ignored him in favor of stirring, his gaze on the potion rather than Harry. Harry tried not to sulk into the cauldron for the remainder of the class as any attempts to talk to the other man went entirely out the window. 

Slughorn made his rounds and then stood up at the front of the class for a last announcement. “As I enjoyed watching you all bond today with your other classmates, I’m going to assign a little project for you all.”

Harry tensed when he felt Malfoy twitch beside him.

“You and your partner will work together to create the perfect Amortentia potion. Once complete, you will turn it in, and it will prove to be half of your N.E.W.T. score.”

“So take heed. I trust you as eighth years not to mishandle this potion; we wouldn’t want another mishap like a few years back now, would we?”

Slughorn eyed Harry with a crooked grin, and Harry only nodded tightly back. He could feel Malfoy’s gaze on him as Slughorn left them all to it.

“This Friday. My dorm. Seven o’clock.”

Before he could respond either way, Malfoy had already packed up his things and was gone.

***

_Put a price on emotion_  
 _I'm looking for something to buy_  
 _You've got my devotion_  
 _But man, I can hate you sometimes_

Harry woke up the next day with a newly reinvigorated sense of finding out his mystery song sender, as he made his way down to the Great Hall earlier than usual for breakfast. 

The song Harry received that very next morning was even more of an incentive to find out who in the hell it is. 

It didn’t help either that Harry still had that sodding book from the library that he hadn’t opened up yet.

“Harry! I told you ages ago to read _A History of Mythologies: Roman & Greek_!” Hermione gave him one of her famous _I cannot believe you_ looks, and Harry had the nerve to look put out. 

“I really truly honestly do _not_ want to read 983 pages of centuries-old text Hermione. What good is it going to do to help me out?”

Hermione shot him such a strong look in response that he stood up from the Great Hall table and scurry off to his room to grab the sodding book after all. 

_Test of my patience_  
_There's things that we'll never know_  
_You sunshine, you temptress_  
_My hand's at risk, I fold_

It probably didn’t help his mood that the past few lyrics he had received had been on the more morose side. It made Harry want to just lie on the Quidditch pitch and stare up at the sky, contemplating life’s very existence while the musical chords reigned in his ears as he took notes on the side in his notebook, pondering who Typhon could be.

He spent a good chunk of the day on Wednesday doing exactly that until a quaffle smacked him upside the head thanks to an unassuming third year practicing their technique. Rather poorly in his opinion.

Yeah, he needed to figure out his mystery song sender before he wholly lost his mind.

***

_Is this real?_  
 _Do you feel it too?_  
 _Cause I don’t know, what to do_  
 _It feels like, I already know_  
 _All your secrets_  
 _And where you go_

“Hiya Romilda - erm, how is everything going with you?” 

Even if she had tried, the girl in question couldn’t have seemed more thrilled that Harry had even looked at her, let alone spoken words directed to her in particular.

Harry grimaced at the starstruck expression on Romilda’s face. He was sure if he asked her to smuggle some poison from Slughorn’s secret stash and pour it down her own throat while he watched, she would comply with absolutely no questions asked.

“Going _maddeningly_ wonderfully well, Harry. Thank you for asking.”

He resisted the strong urge to roll his eyes.

“Erm, brilliant. Listen - I was wondering if you had sent me any songs this year. I have some lyrics written up.” He tried to hide his blush because when Seamus had found out that Harry had been keeping the lyrics he related to the most from his songs in a journal, he'd thrown a fit and screamed about it for days on end.

But he handed her the journal, which she took animatedly and read with interested vigor.

Harry watched her expression cautiously, he already could tell that she hasn’t been the one sending him the songs. She took too long to read them and even had a look of disgust that mirrored jealousy, painting her expression the further she went into the lyrics.

Harry snatched the book away before she could read any further, and, without saying anything else, he jogged away and out of sight before she could catch up.

_In my dreams you are by my side_  
_Take my hand and be my guide_  
_What is this modern romance_  
_I know the song, but I don’t know the dance_

“Oh… _Harry_. Not Romilda.”

Clenching his jaw, Harry glared at Hermione’s pitying expression. “Look! I have to find out who this sodding person is! It’s driving me mad, okay?”

Ron nodded sagely as he beat Neville in wizards chess for the fourth time in a row. “Please do, mate. If I have to look at your sullen face in Potions one more time, I might have to go ahead and kill you before you die of a broken heart.”

“Ronald!”

The redhead only shrugged as he reset his game. Harry just turned up the volume on his new song from Typhon, pulling out the massive book to Hermione’s relief, and tuning them out entirely for the remainder of the night.

_How can I love you through the phone?_  
_It’s like you’re here, but I’m still alone_  
_It’s your spell I’ve fallen under_  
_Oh, I wonder, I wonder_

***

Desperate wasn’t a word Harry would use to describe himself at this point.

Doomed, hopeless...now those were words he could heavily relate to as he eyed Zacharias Smith, sitting across from him taking shot after shot on a “date” he asked him for earlier, on a wild whim before their Charms class.

He rather hoped to Merlin and back that Smith wasn’t the mysterious song sender, especially with the way he was currently chewing open-mouthed all over their blasted table.

Maybe Harry should have asked him straight up before the date if he was the one.

“Mate - I gotta tell ya. Was not expecting this from the Chosen One, but I am _not_ complaining.”

Smith then dived into some more of the rather nasty looking cheesy chips the bar sold. Harry thought he had seen the bartender take the cheese from underneath the bar before drowning said chips in them, then putting it back on the ground.

He politely shook his head when Smith offered some to Harry with yellow-tinged fingers.

They had ended up at the same hole-in-the-wall karaoke bar that Seamus and Dean had dragged him and Ron to a few Thursdays ago, and Harry appreciated the familiarity of it. Still, it didn't help that he was staring at Smith’s face across from him and not his mates. 

He narrowed down the people in his head to a final few he believed it could be. And with the way Smith had been eyeing him all year he had a good reason to invite him out just to see if Typhon could be him, even if his glances made Harry incredibly uncomfortable.

Harry cleared his throat, “So - erm….I was wondering if you, uh- ever played around with that music-”

“Hold that beautiful thought, gotta use the loo, be back shortly.” Smith leaned in and kissed his cheek, to Harry’s surprise and slight disgust. He gave a manly squeak in response, but Smith had already left for the restrooms. 

He could still smell the stink of old cheese even after scrubbing his cheek down with a napkin.

_This is a bloody disaster._

Harry went ahead and paid for his drinks; there was no way in hell he was staying here. He figured he could make his excuses to go to the loo once his “date” got back and scram from there.

But then his eyes caught sight of a familiar blond head, and he found himself staring uncouthly at the table where Malfoy currently resided, looking rather sulky in the glow of the bar. 

He only had Parkinson with him this time, not the rest of the Slytherin crew.

Harry allowed himself to stare for a few more seconds, taking in his slouch in his booth seat. He could hear Pansy’s squawking at him about something or another. That was enough to make Harry snort under his breath, especially at the glower Malfoy was currently aiming her way.

Zacharias made his loud return back to the table, complaining about the lack of hygiene in the bathroom, which Harry found hilarious with how he had just been scarfing down three-day-old cheese fries and getting it everywhere in the process.

Malfoy’s eyes caught Harry’s as soon as his “date” wrapped an arm around him in his seat possessively as he sat down. Harry immediately flinched away, feeling somewhat resentful towards Smith for ruining what could have been a moment.

He could feel Malfoy’s lingering gaze on him after he reluctantly looked away.

And that was when Harry realized with a groan that he missed his perfect opportunity to leave. The lights of the establishment dimmed, and some man was announcing that karaoke was about to begin.

He frowned into his new full glass of Butterbeer that Smith graciously bought for him, as the man in question went on about his dislike for the Headmistress’s idea for the phones to be administered and how he hadn’t touched his mobile all year.

Harry felt an enormous wave of relief, as well as annoyance with himself for wasting his time with this lunatic. He would have greatly preferred reading that book Hermione kept harping about rather than sit one more second with Smith.

But out of the corner of his sight, he noticed Malfoy stand up from his booth and head over to the stage in a manner similar to the last time. Harry felt his heart speed up as Malfoy grabbed the microphone, adjusting it to his height once again.

If there had been any doubt from the last time, there was no mistaking it this time; Malfoy’s gaze was directed solely at him.

_“A chance encounter of circumstance, baby he’s a mantra, keeps your mind entranced. He could be the silence in this mayhem, but then again. He’ll never love you like I can, can, can.”_

Malfoy finally turned his body around and walked down the stage away from where Harry and Smith sat, giving Harry enough time to catch the breath that had seemed to have gotten stuck somewhere in his throat. 

_“Why are you looking down all the wrong roads, when mine is the heart and the soul of the song. There may be lovers who hold out their hands, but he’ll never love you like I can, can, can.”_

Harry found his heart had picked up speed, and his palms were sweatier than they were before Malfoy started in on his song of the night. He couldn’t even pick up his glass as the condensation on the glass made his hands even more slippery.

“He’s rather good, isn’t he? Wouldn’t have suspected a former death eater of having many talents, yet here we are.”

Harry swiftly turned his head to Smith, glaring in disapproval, his eyes narrowed, before swinging his head back to the stage, giving Malfoy all his attention. Not that he hadn’t been before...

_“We both have demons that we can’t stand. I love your demons like devils can.”_

Harry’s breath caught as he watched Malfoy look his way directly with those glistening grey eyes from his karaoke throne and _wink_ at him, well, he wasn’t quite sure if he was hallucinating that or not. Or if he was going to be able to stand up from the table, period.

“I mean, you would have never thought to believe that someone like _him_ would have the balls to -”

“To _what_?!” Harry’s eyes were stormy as he looked back to Smith; he could feel the adrenaline from watching Malfoy perform turn to rage. “Go on! What were you going to say?”

Even in the dim light of the bar, Harry could see as Smith’s face lost most of its color, his eyes widening in shock. He obviously wasn’t expecting the Chosen One to take up for an ex-Death Eater. 

“I - I was just going to say how erm...relieving it is to see people change...for the better as Malfoy has. Good on him.”

Harry clenched his teeth so hard he felt his jaw creak. He could tell that Smith was clearly blowing smoke from his pasted-on sneer. 

Once Malfoy bowed and finished, eliciting applause from most patrons, Harry found he had no other reason to stick around longer on the date and he scrambled out of the bar, ignoring Smith calling his name from behind.

***

A part of Harry couldn’t think of anything he would like to do more than jump onto the bed with Malfoy, sit near him, and poke him just to ensure he wasn’t some made-up ghost or figment of Harry’s imagination.

Still, he didn’t want to chance a punch to his throat or a hex to his nether-regions, so he took a seat in the wicker chair beside his desk.

He wanted this project for Slughorn to go well, and he figured a sore throat or a fight of any type wouldn’t be the best start. 

His brain helpfully provided a few other ways that he could get a sore throat that wouldn’t be so terrible with Malfoy’s help, and he choked on his saliva, tuning out those thoughts to the best of his ability. 

Malfoy looked up, unconcerned as Harry finished his coughing fit. “I would much rather you wait until after our study sessions are complete before dying on me, Potter. I’d hate to have your death on my record.”

Harry scoffed, but something inside his chest sang from the fact that this was Malfoy, the same prat who sang his heart out on stage, giving Harry his full attention. It was much different than him up in front of crowds, where everyone could see him and watch, mystified. 

But here, it was just Malfoy and Harry. No one else to intrude or stare. 

Something about Malfoy this year made Harry lightheaded. His whole aura -- the way he lightly sat on his bed, his textbook laying on his delicately crossed legs, one precise eyebrow raised as he wrote down notes in his potions notebook -- was completely different than the version Harry saw on the stage.

The stage version of the Slytherin was unyielding with a different kind of power that could bring men and women to their knees.

He wondered if Malfoy found Harry different from the boy he grew up with, or perhaps Malfoy hadn’t paid him much mind since the start of the school year. He wondered if Malfoy liked this version of Harry better, or at least, found him more intriguing than his past self from before the War.

He wondered if they could be friends.

Then again, Harry wasn’t even sure if he was any different himself. It wasn’t like he was taking initiatives to go up on stages and sing his heart out to crowds or wear tight leather trousers that show far more than he would be comfortable with.

He opened his mouth to ask Malfoy if he thought he had changed, his curiosity getting the better of him like always when Malfoy cleared his throat, and Harry coughed instead.

“So, Amortentia. Easy enough.” Malfoy organized all the notes in front of him on the bed into one stack. “We will need to find the ingredients, which shouldn’t be too much of a bother.”

Harry only nodded, staring at Malfoy’s pale handwriting more notes as he spoke. “Tomorrow, I can go down to the greenhouses to gather some rose thorns.”

“I can come too.”

Malfoy blinked up at Harry, “Wouldn’t that be counterproductive? You could just go down to Hagrid’s to pick up the rest of the ingredients while I get the thorns, kill two birds with one stone as the Muggles say.” 

Harry closed his mouth, which had been hanging open in lieu of not knowing what to say. 

Malfoy stared at him for a few more seconds, eyeing him and clearly making a decision mentally, “I...suppose we might need quite a few thorns...you can come along if you’d like.” 

Malfoy kept eyeing him, giving him a long look of _something_ , and Harry felt as though he was currently being dissected from the inside out. 

“I didn’t know you could sing.”

Malfoy visibly started at that but did a decent job of covering it up, running a hand through his perfectly coiffed hair that always laid immaculate on top of his head. 

“Yes, well, I am more than certain there are many things about me you are not privy to, Potter.” He raised an eyebrow at that, a smirk playing at the edge of his pink mouth. 

Harry audibly swallowed as he twitched in the chair. “It sure seems that way. You aren’t terrible at it, so to speak.”

Harry knew he made a mistake if the look of calculation on Malfoy’s face was anything to go by.

“I mean -”

“And I didn’t realize you went on dates with close-minded pricks, yet here we are.”

Harry felt the blood drain from his face.

“Let’s get this over with, shall we, Potter?”

The moment had passed: even though Harry wanted to rewind the last five seconds and give him a better compliment, or an _actual compliment_ , Malfoy was clearly done with the conversation as he forcefully wrote in his notebook, his quill practically ripping through the paper.

Harry only sighed and began his research, cracking open his potions book. 

They continued working in a stilted silence, the only sounds being the sounds of their breathing, Malfoy’s urgent quill scratching, and a light tune in the background. 

Harry chalked the last one all up to him, listening to Typhon’s songs on repeat to the point of hearing them in his subconscious. 

But then he realized that the music was coming from somewhere else in the room, and Harry turned in his seat to inspect the noise.

A small box sat on top of Malfoy’s other table in his room, and unconsciously, Harry stood up and knelt in front of the contraption to get a better look, hoping Malfoy wouldn’t stab him with his angry quill. 

It looked rather old if the telltale signs of paint chipping on the sides were any tell. A needle-like piece stuck out from the rest of the box as it ran its tip over what looked like a black disc.

“As much as I am enjoying your clear bewilderment of my gramophone, I think you’d best get back to work so we can be done with this sooner rather than later.”

Harry turned to face Malfoy. “Gramophone?”

Malfoy cursed under his breath. 

“Record player, turntable, whatever you fancy calling it, yes Potter, that is what people call it.” Malfoy narrowed his eyes as he finally looked up at him from his perch on the bed. “I realize your upbringing wasn’t incredibly enlightening, but you can’t honestly tell me you have never seen one before.”

Harry shrugged in a non-verbal reply before turning back to the record player, his eyes taking in it all, wondering where he could get one himself. 

His hands lightly ran over the small stack of thin, colorful packages.

Malfoy then took it upon himself to slide off his bed, sauntering over and standing beside Harry, his pajama bottoms swaying against his side as he gestured right beside the gramophone. 

“Those are called records. You pull them out of their sleeves here and place them inside the player here.” Harry’s eyes widened in silent awe as he watched Malfoy show him in real-time.  


_Damn Typhon for making him interested in everything music_.

“Brilliant.”

He eyed an album with a man with an orange lightning bolt painted on his face, and the current song changed if the small scratching sounds were anything to go by. 

He watched, entranced, as Malfoy took the record out and simply flipped it over, putting it back into the record player for round two as a new song drifted from it.

“David Bowie.” 

“Huh?”

Harry looked up from where he still sat in front of the gramophone and found one of Malfoy’s signature unimpressed frowns directed at him, his arms crossed in front of him. 

Harry couldn’t help notice the small amount of muscle the man had gained over the past few years, the strength emanating from him, and he remembered the way those same arms moved around on the stage, the way the stage-lights hit his skin so perfectly, how his sweat illuminated out to the crowd -

“The name of the muggle singer from that record you’re eyeing. Do keep up, Potter.”

“Oh - uh- ” Harry gulped and nodded quickly. “Right, okay?”

Malfoy took that as a cue to keep going. 

“He was pretty influential in the Muggle world back in the early 70s. Then there are the Rolling Stones, who are playing right now. They came about in ‘62. This is one of the Stones best albums they ever came out with; I don’t care what anyone else says.” 

Malfoy gestured to one of the colorful slim covers that lay beside the stack of others; this one, in particular, was darker in color, and Harry swallowed back his tongue as he grabbed it to take a closer look at the picture on the front.

Harry’s hands sweated as he glanced over the album sleeve, where there was a clear view of a man’s jean covered crotch in the center. “Erm - they had quite the artistic expression?”

“Oh, yes. The Stones were always pushing boundaries. Jagger was and is, a true Slytherin, or would be if he were a wizard,” Malfoy replied, a smirk evident in his voice.

Harry gently placed the cover back where it once was and stared at the record player in front of him again, listening to the song in question and reminding himself silently that he needn’t spend much time analyzing every single word of this particular song.

_As I stand by your flame I get burned once again_  
_Feelin' low down, I'm blue_  
_As I sit by the fire_  
_Of your warm desire I've got the blues for you, yeah_

“I like it.”

“Glad to have your valued seal of approval, Potter.”

A faint blush swept across Malfoy’s neck that the Slytherin hastened to cover up with his robes as he hopped back onto the bed, picking up his quill to quietly work again, less demanding than before. Harry looked down at his work to hide his smile. 

The guttural voice from the Stones lulled them into a perfect working atmosphere.

***

Of course, there was a bloody dance.

It wasn’t as if Harry didn’t already have enough to worry about this year.

As if Malfoy losing his fucking mind (and being a wicked singer to boot), Typhon, and studying for the N.E.W.T.S. weren’t enough to drive Harry mad this year. Nope. McGonagall thought it prudent to have another ‘ball’ type dance to promote ‘inter-house cooperation and friendship.’

_Merlin._

Just to think, that morning, he had woken up to one of the most beautiful songs he had ever heard.

_The ways in which you talk to me_  
_Have me wishin' I were gone_  
_The ways that you say my name_  
_Have me runnin' on and on_

Harry felt his heart flutter in his chest at the lyrics, wanting nothing more than to find Typhon, grab them, whoever the hell they were, and hex them for hiding from him. And then maybe snog the sense right out of them after.

But instead, he had a ball to attend later that week.

He truly appreciated McGonagall, but sometimes she really ground on his nerves. And with the way Ron was going on that morning at breakfast, his sentiments mirrored Harry’s own.

“Bloody ridiculous, this is! Not giving us but a week in preparation!” He scowled, shoving more sausages down his throat in frustration. “I’m gonna have to owl mum to send those bloody robes from fourth year.”

Hermione gasped. “Not your Great Aunt -”

“Tessie’s. Yeah.” Ron looked as though he was about to cry into his breakfast, and Harry patted his back as Ginny laughed raucously across the table at her brother’s unfortunate expense.

Harry managed to grimace on behalf of Ron, understanding his frustration. It was as if all the professors felt the need this year to make sure the students were having a ‘normal’ year since the last few weren’t quite what Harry would describe as _normal_.

The evening of the ball, he walked down with Ron (who was already rather drunk thanks to Seamus, of course); he still wasn’t looking forward to the night’s activities. 

Harry was certainly not jealous in the slightest of Ron’s frilly robes and was glad to have a black set of dress robes that suited him well enough.

“Here's to hoping Seamus spiked the punch bowl.”

Ron laughed at that, and Harry felt a little better.

They were all standing by the (unfortunately untouched) punch bowl (thanks to McGonagall) staring at each other and laughing at all the awkward fourth years. Some of the boys seemed to be failing at asking the girls to dance if their up-turned noses were anything to go by.

“Rotten luck.” Neville shook his head, “Maybe I should offer them dancing lessons?”

They then went down memory lane of fourth year and laughed at how terrible of a dancer Harry had been, but in that exact moment, he couldn’t care less as he recognized the song that just started to play.

_I'm headed straight for the floor_  
_The alcohol served its tour_  
_And it's headed straight for my skin_  
_Leaving me daft and dim_

Harry felt a tug in his chest as he realized the lyrics to the music playing overhead came from the same song that Typhon sent him earlier that week. 

His eyes immediately went haywire, looking back and forth as if Typhon would pop right out of the woodwork with a _ta da!_. Judging by the expressions on Ron and Hermione’s faces beside him, he probably looked a bit mad.

“Erm, Harry, mate, you alright? Need some gillyweed? I know Neville has some stuffed in his dress robes if you -”

“No! No - um, I’m fine, Ron. Sorry I just need to -”

He started walking briskly away before he could finish his thought, as his mind could only hold one coherent purpose at that moment.

_Find Typhon_

He wasn’t even sure why he suddenly needed to do this; he knew logically; this made no sense, and it was only a coincidence that one of Typhon’s songs was playing. 

But some irrational and insane part of Harry wanted this to be fate, that perhaps this song was meant to play at this moment in time to lead him to his person, finally.

At some point in his research and fervent listening to all the songs, Harry knew it all came down to this, and he was going to find his person tonight.

As the lyrics continued playing, he scanned the room, his whole body circling and his heart beating loud enough to almost drown out the chorus. 

_I'm Mr. Loverman_  
_And I miss my lover, man_  
_I'm Mr. Loverman_  
_Oh, and I miss my lover_

Most people around him were either slow dancing in the middle of the floor or standing precariously on the side. 

He barely noticed Professor McGonagall staring at him oddly from her perch as he swept the floor, witlessly scanning the room for the person he needed to find in that very moment. 

Harry suddenly pictured it: walking through the parade of people on the sides and finding them in the middle of the floor, striding up to meet _finally_.

Like a bludger to the head, Harry stopped, realizing that he was in love with this mystery person cutting him open.

_Oh, I'm cramping up_  
_I'm cramping up_  
_But you're cracking up_  
_You're cracking up_

Twisting around, he bleakly registered he was standing in the middle of the dance floor, several students blatantly staring at him. Dean and Seamus were peering over at him from where they stood swaying to the music and attempting to get his attention to no avail. 

Even Parkinson and Zabini were side-eyeing him from the side of the ballroom.

_I've shattered now, I'm spilling out_  
_Upon this linoleum ground_  
_I'm reeling in my brain again_  
_Before it can get back to you_  
_Oh, what am I supposed to do without you?_

With one last lingering look around, Harry shook his head, feeling a sudden loss in his chest, a morose feeling overtaking him too quickly. It almost had him seeing double.

He needed a drink. 

He knew he was acting ridiculously - this person, whoever they were, was probably having him on. Having a good laugh at his expense, no doubt, right at this moment as they watched him flounder around in the middle of the ballroom.

Harry then walked to the side of the room, ignoring the odd stares, and opening a door that led through a narrow hallway and outside onto a courtyard of sorts that Harry never remembered being there before. 

The professors must have transfigured it. It gave way to an archway and a beautiful look at the Hogwarts grounds.

Harry inhaled the cold night air, belatedly registering how out of breath he was from attempting to find his music soulmate. He leaned over the cool railing, the wind soothing on his overheated skin. 

“Merlin, I am such a fucking lunatic. Like some stupid fourteen-year-old girl in a sad movie.”

“I quite agree with that statement.”

Harry jumped a good foot in the air, searching for the voice and finding Malfoy casually leaning against one of the cobblestone arches, watching him intently.

“Not sure about the fourteen-year-old girl bit, but you do look a tad worse for wear, Potter. What’s got your knickers in a twist?”

Harry breathed in deeply and counted to five. He wasn’t sure if he was currently up to dealing with Malfoy if he was in a teasing mood. “Erm - nothing. Just some things I need to sort out before I completely lose it.”

Malfoy looked at him, his grey eyes giving him that same curiously intense look, similar to the one from the first karaoke night.

“The song that’s playing in there, you know the artist?”

Harry’s head was still spinning, and couldn’t understand a word coming out of his mouth. “The - what?”

“The singer, Potter. Merlin’s saggy-.”

“Yes, yes! I know what you mean.” Harry then realized Malfoy was talking about the song Typhon had sent him, which was still playing inside.

“Yeah - I uh, hang on.”

Harry reached in his pocket, where he always kept his music player, pulled it out, and then began scrolling through until he found the song in question. He tried not to be crestfallen that there was no new song waiting for him as he checked the artist’s name and told it to Malfoy.

“Hmm.” 

Harry glanced at Malfoy before slowly putting his device back in his dress robes pocket. “Why’d you ask?”

“I like it.” Malfoy’s eyes were lit up by the lanterns that hung outside, embellishing the quiet fire underneath that stare.

Harry swallowed. “Yeah - it’s alright if you're into Muggle music. Which you obviously are.”

“Is that an issue, Potter?”

Harry looked back up from where he was staring at the ground and raised both eyebrows. And for the first time since Harry stepped foot outside that night, Malfoy seemed a bit too preoccupied with the color of the stone's floor to look back his way.

“I feel like out of the two of us, you would be the one less inclined to dabble with that kind of thing. No offense. I know you’ve come to a new realization or whatever that you like Muggle things, but I do remember you being a prick back in the day about them.”

Harry wasn’t sure why he said it, but he didn’t necessarily regret it, not when Malfoy didn’t automatically raise a wand to hex his bollocks off.

Instead, Malfoy gazed outwards past the courtyard, into the darkness of the night. Harry watched as his eyes seemed far away, his face hard as stone, unforgiving, the fire from before gone out.

“People are known to change. Some for the better, some not so much.” Malfoy straightened up from where he was leaning, brushing the imaginary dust off his midnight blue dress robes that fit him well.

Very well, in fact. 

“I hope I am one of the former.”

“You are.” Harry tried to ignore the way his breath caught in his throat from the pure intensity he was feeling at this moment; he wasn’t sure if hearing Typhon’s song made his heart pound, or if it was because Malfoy was wearing the same blazing look from before he went on stage, in his eyes as he studied Harry.

“You are a brilliant singer too. I uh - just wanted you to know. I didn’t mean, erm, the other day I mean -”

Malfoy held up a hand, and Harry breathed in deeply, not realizing how fast his heart had started pounding. 

His mouth curved into a slightly knowing grin. “Thanks, Potter.”

***

_You are my last, you are my first_  
 _You kill me for the better_  
 _You are the rising tide_  
 _You're every fucking thing inside me now_

That same night, after the ball was over, Harry trudged into the eighth year common room and was met with piercing sounds of laughter permeating the air, and the sight of Seamus singing that same bloody _Cher_ song that he forced Harry to send to Typhon months ago. 

Harry did laugh out loud with the rest of his friends, as Seamus pulled an uncooperative Dean up on the table to sing with him, everyone still in their dress robes. Harry felt a warm glow of contentment radiating in him at sight.

_You are the violence in my veins_  
_You are the war inside my brain_  
_You are my glitter and my gloom_  
_I am so numb without you_

Walking further into the room, he noticed there were Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws in the midst as well, and to his surprise, there was even a group of Slytherins. They were eyeing the ruckus with varying levels of interest/concern/hilarity from the corner.

All except Malfoy.

The blond’s attentions were pasted to his mobile, eyes glinting, absorbed in whatever he was doing. It looked to Harry that he was typing something up, one ear plugged with an earplug and a soft smile gracing his face.

Harry’s heart did the same erratic pounding it had recently been doing anytime he looked at Malfoy. 

That erratic pounding would have been worrying but he consciously hadn’t put much effort into mulling over the fact that it wouldn’t do to get caught up in feelings for someone who would never be interested.

He had Typhon to find anyway.

A ding took him away from his musings, and he found a new song waiting for him. He stared down at the new addition, biting his bottom lip as he pushed away the lingering urge to hide in his dorm, turn off the lights, and replay the song over and over again.

Instead, he pocketed his device and joined his friends in their drinking schemes for the evening. 

Hermione watched him as he put away his phone with a grin and patted the available cushion next to her.

“Have you read up on your book?”

It took Harry a second to catch on to what she meant but then sighed, realizing he had forgotten all about the history book he stowed in his suitcase at the end of his bed. 

“I - uh, haven’t. Been too busy with….classes.”

Hermione just stared bluntly at him, as if he was the dimmest person in the room. And he believed it at that moment. 

“What?”

Hermione’s gaze went past Harry for a split second, before looking back at him in the next second. He despised the pitying expression on her face.

“I might know something. But if you would read the blasted book like I told you to, perhaps you would know something too.”

Harry felt a wave of frustration hit him, but it quickly evaporated, and suddenly a wave of exhaustion hit him. “You’re probably right.”

Hermione snorted. “Of course, I am.” He smiled at her as she patted him on the thigh, and both their attentions suddenly turned to the main event in the room.

A hilarious (and drunken) dancing battle was currently ensuing Seamus and Dean versus Ron and _Malfoy_ of all people. He must have gotten up from his spot in the corner with the other Slytherins during Harry and Hermione’s talk.

Typically nobody wanted to go up against Dean and his intimidating hip moves. Except for Malfoy, it seemed.

Entranced, everyone watched as Malfoy danced on the table in the middle of the room in front of the fireplace, as Slytherins cat-called. 

At the same time, the other Houses merely stared; even Ron gave up and slid in next to Harry on the loveseat to watch his dance partner win the competition easily without his help.

Seamus and Dean ended up sprawled on the floor in defeat. 

When Malfoy bowed to the crowd after being declared the winner, winking in Harry’s direction, Harry gulped and decided it was time for bed. 

Everyone else mumbled and some slurred out congratulations to Malfoy, a few even tumbling to the floor, deciding that was their bed for the night.

He could feel Hermione’s gaze on him as he watched Malfoy disappear up to his room, but he couldn’t be bothered by it.

After stepping over a shirtless Neville, Harry climbed the steps to his dorm, warm but not quite sloshed. A sense of euphoria washed over him as he climbed into bed, grinning like a fool from the night’s festivities, happy at how different the night ended up than how he had expected. Even though he hadn’t found Typhon in the crowd earlier. 

Then he remembered that Typhon had sent him a new song, so he rushed to pull out his mobile, casting a soft _Lumos_ as he did, plugging in his headphones and tucking in to listen.

_When your line is crossed I get off_  
_You're greedy eyes upon me_  
_And then I come undone_  
_And I could close the curtains_  
_But this too much fun_

Harry felt a warmth flow through him, and he immediately pushed himself further into his mattress; a familiar stirring of arousal pulsing through him just from the words of the song alone. 

He knew it was most likely because he hadn’t wanked in about a week since he had been too busy with Typhon and his and Malfoy’s potion assignment. 

And this song certainly wasn’t cooling him down. 

Damn Typhon. 

_I get off on you_  
_Getting off on me_  
_I give you what you want_  
_But nothing is for free_  
_It's a give and take_  
_Kinda life we make_

He rolled over onto his back, thankful for the separate rooms all the eighth years had this year and pulled his pants down over his already leaking cock. 

_So much left unspoken_  
_Between the two of us_  
_It's so much more exciting_  
_To look when you can touch_  
_You could say I am different_  
_And maybe I'm a freak_  
_But I know how to twist ya_  
_To bring you to your knees_

Harry closed his eyes, images instantly filled his head; he groaned and opened his eyes, biting his lip in a desperate attempt to think of _anything_ but the way Malfoy’s hips moved earlier that night in the dance battle. 

His cock hadn’t weakened in the slightest from the song lyrics or Malfoy playing a starring role in his spank-bank for the night.

It seemed the opposite as Harry let out a breath of air while he thumbed his leaking cockhead and threw his head back deeper into his pillow in frustration at how hard he was. 

The images transformed into more of Malfoy on stage, letting out soft croons into the mic or the way his eyes blazed every time he looked Harry’s way this year. 

His hand never stopped pulling on his cock, even though he was silently having a mental breakdown. He only took a break to restart the song, put it on a loop, and turn it up. His erection wasn’t having the same issues, as it spouted out more precome.

_But you don't know_  
_But you can't see It's what you forgive_  
_Out here for me I get off on you_  
_Getting off on me I give you what you want_

His thoughts kept pulling him in different directions as images of pale, sweat-slicked skin appeared in his mind. 

He suddenly imagined Malfoy watching him get off on him, literally (or at least by thinking of him), and that was enough for him to come in a hot, quaking, sticky mess all over his sheets.

***

_You live your life, you go in shadow_  
 _You'll come upon and you'll go black_  
 _Some kind of night into your darkness_  
 _Close your eyes with what's not there_  
 _Fade into you_  
 _Strange you never knew_  
 _Fade into you_  
 _I think it's strange you never knew_

Another week went by, and Harry finally did manage to crack open the hellish history book Hermione had been forcing down his throat, reading through a chunk of it before falling asleep in Malfoy’s chair during one of their meet-ups for the potions assignment. 

Harry jolted awake sometime later with Malfoy standing over him. His bloody history book _A History of Mythologies: Roman & Greek_ lay heavy in his lap, there was a nasty crick in his neck that was going to give him issues all day, he can already tell, and for some reason, Malfoy looks almost...fond? 

Harry rubbed his eyes because he can't be fully awake. But no matter how much he shakes himself, Malfoy still seemed much more jolly than Harry expected him to be after just finding out that the Gryffindor accidentally slept over in his wicker chair. 

“Interesting book you’re reading there, Potter.”

“Oh, this? Yeah, I uh...am really quite intrigued by the uh - Romans. And the Greeks. And their history.”

Malfoy stared at him, clearly suppressing a laugh if his bitten lips were anything to go by.

And those lips...Harry stared at how red they were and imagined how they would feel against -

_Nope_

“Yes, I gathered. Since the title says as much.”

Harry wouldn’t say it’s been _difficult_ working with Malfoy after his little incident in his bed a few weeks prior, but he has felt... tense.

Not to mention incredibly horny. 

“Shut up, Malfoy.”

That’s definitely a thought he needed to bypass at all costs. 

That night of the dance was a one-time thing and could never happen again. 

He desperately needed to get this project for Slughorn completed so he could devote all his attention to finding out who Typhon was and so he could get on with his life. And forget about Malfoy and his teasing and those fiery looks he was frequently giving him.

Then again, maybe Ron was right, and he was barmy for letting this go on for as long as it has.

What if Typhon turns out to be a First Year? Or some random Fifth Year having a go at him at his expense?

Or Filch?

Harry shuddered at the revolting thought.

“It looks like we have all the ingredients to create the potion now. If we meet in Slughorn’s office next week to create it, we will be done with the assignment early.” 

Malfoy then muttered under his breath about needing the extra time to spend on Arthminacy, and Harry remembered then how similar he and Hermione always had been regarding school-work and their grades.

A wave of admiration towards the other man hit him because he was able to stay on top of all his classes and still have what seemed like a stable social life. 

“Potter? Are you there?”

“Yeah! Erm - does next Monday work?”

Harry bit his lip, hoping he didn’t sound too enthusiastic and that he came across as just wanting to be done with this assignment once and for all. 

This wasn’t true at all, of course, he enjoyed coming into Malfoy's space, listening to his records, and working on their project with casual talking intermingled. 

It gave him something else to think about besides Typhon, and Malfoy’s company was pleasant. 

If not an exercise in self-restraint. Especially on the days when Malfoy would wear his low hanging joggers that framed his arse so deliciously. 

“Two days from now? I didn’t think you would be that anxious to see me again.” 

Harry’s breath caught in his throat, starting a coughing fit. Malfoy quickly stood up from his spot on his duvet, “For the love of Merlin, Potter!” A hand came up and caressed his back, which made Harry’s coughing substantially worse before it hit his back a few times a bit too roughly.

“I’m good! I’m alright!”

Apparently satisfied, Malfoy backed up but watched Harry intently to make sure. “I don’t think you understand; I cannot have your death on my record. The Wizengamont would not be so forgiving the second go around, I’m afraid. Especially if I offed their Boy Wonder.”

Harry wanted to make a snide comment about the chosen nickname, but his mouth was quicker than his head. “And to think I thought that was your end-goal, having me off. I wouldn’t blame you - I know how distracting I can be. Must have been a tough month for you, having me sitting here, working here in your room.”

Malfoy’s eyes widened slightly before catching himself and relaxing in his usual impassive expression. Harry couldn’t help but notice the pink blush that traveled slowly up his pale neck. Harry had a strong urge to just grab Malfoy by the neck and lick…

“Monday it is. Now get out of here before I report you to McGonagall for harassment.”

Harry left, but the smile on his face stayed for hours.

***

_Who has to know_  
 _When we live such fragile lives_  
 _It's the best way we survive_  
 _I go around a time or two_  
 _Just to waste my time with you_

Monday came around quickly, and though Harry still didn’t want to admit it to himself, he had grown quite fond of his time with Malfoy. Knowing it was coming to an end was a bit sad. 

He contemplated telling Malfoy about Typhon because maybe he knew where that name came from; perhaps it was some pureblood nonsense he would be privy to. 

Harry then imagined telling Malfoy, admitting his ridiculous crush on an unknown person who had been sending him songs every day since the start of term and immediately imagined Malfoy laughing at him cruelly, like he used to years ago. That image hit him squarely in the solar plexus and he quickly decided against it. 

_Tell me all that you've thrown away_  
_Find out games you don't wanna play_  
_You are the only one that needs to know_  
_I'll keep you my dirty little secret (Dirty little secret)_  
_Don't tell anyone or you'll be just another regret (Just another regret, hope that you can keep it)_  
_My dirty little secret_

Instead, he stirred himself and watched Malfoy’s pointy face as he meticulously poured the last of the powdered moonstone into their potion.

“Alright, I think it’s done. Would you like to test it to make sure? I’ve smelled Amortentia so many times, it's harder for me to tell if it’s perfect.” Malfoy asked, as he stirred the potion. Harry grimaced. 

He had only smelled the potion all but once four years ago in Slughorn’s class during sixth year, but he figured it would smell mostly the same. 

Minus Ginny’s awful flowery perfume. 

Well, so he hoped, anyway. The thought of that made him want to gag.

His heart was pounding in his chest, but Harry clenched his fists to hide how hard he was shaking as he leaned his face down, right above the potion, the fumes hitting him all at once like he remembered.

Like after a heavy rainstorm, the smell of trees assaulted his senses, along with the familiar scent of the delicate sweetness of treacle tart. 

The last scent that wafted up was-- new and unexpected.

And _familiar_.

An earthy, sandalwood smell hit him with a bluntness that blindsided him.

“Well, how is it?”

Harry leaned further into the cauldron to get a better sniff and almost moaned aloud. He wanted to smother himself with it, wanted to jump into the cauldron, and bathe in it. The smell was so enticing, it was making him want to -

“Potter? Potter!”

“Huh?” he answered eloquently, the scent still pervading his senses. He wrenched himself back from the cauldron in an attempt to clear his head and forget about the unmistakable aroma that was finally evaporating away. 

“Are you going to completely entrench yourself in the potion, or are you coherent enough to finish the project?”

Harry wiped his sweaty palms off on his trousers, not looking anywhere near the other man, and made his way over to the table where their papers were littered about, knocking into things on his way.

“Ever so graceful. What did it smell like that got you all hot and bothered? Weaslette’s lube?”

In the middle of writing his findings, his grip on his quill tightened. He hadn’t realized it had broken in half until the ink on his fingers dripped onto his paper. 

Malfoy took out his wand and wordlessly cleaned up the mess and mended his quill. 

“Potter...I realize you Gryffindors can be quite obtuse at the best of times, but you have been worse for wear recently.”

Harry stiffened as Malfoy stepped closer behind him, bringing the pleasant scent he had just previously been acquainted with for so long. 

“Yes, I’m fine. Just needed some air is all.”

“It looked to me like you were about to swim in that potion. I didn’t realize the Weaslette smelt so enticing. I’d like to know wherever it was that she bought that lube. Or was it her perfume that gets you properly going?”

Harry wasn’t sure if it was the sneering tone or the fact that Draco thought he still smelled Ginny in his Amortentia, but something inside him exploded. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know! Why are you so obsessed with what I smell anyway? Hoping it’s you? Do you desperately desire me, Malfoy?” Harry felt a disgusting surge of pride, simultaneously seeing Malfoy clearly sink into himself, his face growing paler than usual. 

“ _Oh_ is that it then?” Harry scoffed deprecatingly. “Is that why you invited me to your dormitory? You wanted some quality time with me and how I smell?”

“Shut up, you idiot! That isn’t -”

““No! I will not shut up, you prat! I’m not even with Ginny, nor would I ever want to be with her! Not that it’s any of your business but I haven’t been with her since last year - so shut your fucking mouth!”

Harry pushed away from the table and shouldered the other man, who irritatingly held his ground. 

“ _Ooh_ , Potty’s feelings are hurt. How awful. Should I send for Headmistress McGonagall to wipe your tears for you? Surely she’ll have a tissue worthy of The Boy Who Lived.”

Fists clenching, Harry turned abruptly, practically ramming into Malfoy, who had followed closely behind him. “I don’t know what has gotten into you. We were getting along just fine, and suddenly I smell that bloody potion, and you have a fucking mind meld! Just admit you are obsessed with me, and we can move past this like adults.”

Suddenly the memory of Ron complaining to Harry about how obsessed he was with Malfoy back in sixth year rose to the surface, and Harry wanted to laugh and cry simultaneously.

But Malfoy looked like he wanted to hex him to bits, and Harry impulsively reached for his wand under his robes.

“You don’t know _anything_! _As if_ I would ever be infatuated with the Chosen One! Don’t make me vomit. I only forced you to come up to my dorm because I didn’t want to face being around your filth in your Merlin knows how disgusting room!”

Malfoy heaved in a deep breath, his white teeth gleaming as he snarled at Harry. He looked like he was close to punching Harry in the face.

All the heat and frustration left Harry’s body in one quick swoop as he watched Malfoy’s shaking hands. He knew there was no physical altercation in their future; his grip on his wand slackened as he took his hand from his robes. 

“Fine. I don’t know anything. You’re right, as per usual, Malfoy. I’ll leave you to it then. I finished my part of the assignment; all that's left are your final remarks.”

Malfoy opened his mouth to reply, but Harry wasn’t waiting around to listen to any more of what Malfoy had to say. He fled the classroom, careful not to slam the door on his way out.

***

The eighth years all consecutively decided to have one last night out together before the start of their N.E.W.T.S., and of course, they all agreed to the Singing Banshee.

“Come on, Harry! Or we’ll be late!” 

Harry was patting down his ‘too-tight’ trousers as he stared at himself in the mirror, he hated Ginny and her friends for harassing him into wearing these ridiculous pants that showed off a bit too much for his typical liking. 

But he relented, figuring maybe Typhon would be there and see him.

Yeah, he was pathetic.

It didn’t help that Typhon hadn’t sent any more songs his way for the past week. At one point, Harry had gotten so desperate that he almost sent one back to him, but he figured it was pointless. 

He had a feeling that whoever Typhon was, he was angry with Harry for something. Or he was bored with him. 

Either option seemed entirely valid as he trudged along with Ron and Hermione to the bar for the night, his mobile clutched in his hand. 

Every time he looked at his phone, he was met with a blank screen that really made Harry want to rip his hair out and throw his mobile in the Black Lake. 

It hurt more than he was expecting it to. 

He would much rather spend the night whinging about Typhon and listening to his playlist on repeat, but the last time he spoke to Ron about it, Ron actually looked like he might hex him, so Harry figured all his friends were at their wits end with him. 

They all settled into a booth at the back of the bar. Harry had insisted they sit at the back because he didn’t want to chance sitting close to the stage in case Malfoy was there and decided to perform some of his infamous karaoke. Folks had been so enamored with him and his singing that he had become something of a celebrity in eighth year.

Seamus still hadn’t shut up about that first night when they saw him months ago. Harry had to threaten to hex his bollocks off on the way over when Seamus kept asking everyone to sit at the table closest to the stage. 

But in a thank you for choosing the table that was literally plastered to the back wall, Harry stood up to get everyone’s first round. He knew they probably wanted to talk shit about his attitude anyway, so he might as well let them get it out of the way early on in the night, so he didn’t have to listen to it himself. 

The bar was in full swing as they made their way inside, a tad later than usual. The lights had already dimmed and Harry had to squeeze through to get the bartender’s attention. 

He was waiting for the round when he heard it. 

The music’s soft thrums penetrated his ears at once. Harry recognized the guitar strums immediately. He stilled, his heart racing in his chest, he had to remember how to breathe before he passed out right there at the bar. 

The song that was playing was the same one that Typhon had sent him - the _last song_ he received. 

Ever since...well, ever since the incident with Malfoy, Harry had been listening to this one song on repeat in hopes of a new song appearing soon. So suffice to say he knew most of the words by heart.

_“You say there's so much you don't know. You need to go and find yourself. You say you'd rather be alone. 'Cause you think you won't find it tied to someone else.”_

When Malfoy’s haunting voice came through the microphone, Harry’s legs locked up. 

_“Ooh, who said it's true. That the growing only happens on your own? They don't know me and you._

As Harry watched the man on stage he couldn’t help but wonder if Malfoy was looking for him as he eyed the crowd. He could see from his spot in the back of the bar that Malfoy’s grey eyes were scanning the people before him, all wholly enthralled by his voice as per the usual.

He clearly didn’t know Harry and his friends were there, or maybe he did and didn’t have eyes for him like last time. 

Or maybe he couldn’t find him.

But Harry watched and it seemed that Malfoy’s usual glittering eyes had dulled, and he stopped his searching to stare at the ground as the song continued playing, his voice never wavering.

_“I don't think you have to leave. If to change is what you need. You can change right next to me. When you're high, I'll take the lows. You can ebb, and I can flow. And we'll take it slow, and grow as we go, grow as we go.”_

He felt an elbow to his side, and Harry saw Ron giving him a wary look as he nodded toward the full pint glasses left by the bartender. Harry helped Ron carry them, trying to calm his shaking hands to no avail. By the time he made it to the table Neville’s drink ended up halfway empty. 

Once, he sat down Harry felt someone else looking his way and turned to see Hermione giving him one of her favorite looks, the one she gave him when he did something foolish. 

She had been giving him that look way more than usual this year. 

And a sinking, sick feeling he knew exactly what was in that book she had been pushing up his arse to read all year suddenly made itself known. It added up together in his head all at once, and he desperately wanted to vomit. Or pass out.

Or all of the above.

_You won't be the only one; I am unfinished; I’ve got so much left to learn. I don't know how this river runs. But I'd like the company through every twist and turn._

“Harry…” Hermione proceeded cautiously, her eyes knowing, and her brows raised in anticipation of whatever he would do next. 

She always knew too much for her own good, that witch.

And Harry had to make up his mind, fast, on whatever the hell it was that he was going to do.

Glancing around frantically at the table, he spotted a shot of Ogden’s that Seamus hadn’t taken yet and snatched it up, to the complaints of his friend. He downed it in one go and jumped from the table, made his way back towards the stage where Malfoy was standing there in all his glory, singing _their_ song.

If Harry was wrong about this - he might have to move to Romania. 

He made his way through the darkness. Malfoy hadn’t seen him yet, even as he slowly climbed up using the side steps that connected to the stage, finding a second microphone sitting up in the back. 

Harry thought he heard Ron yelling out something along the lines of him being mental beyond belief, and even though Harry completely and utterly agreed with his best mate he grasped the dusty mic and plugged it in. 

_Ooh, who said it's true. That the growing only happens on your own? They don't know me and you_

Taking a deep breath, Harry came out from the shadows from the back of the stage and started singing over Malfoy's own angelic voice, most likely butchering the song in the process, but not caring in the slightest.

_You don't even have to leave if to change is what you need. You can change right next to me. When you're high, I'll take the lows. You can ebb, and I can flow_

Malfoy’s shocked face should have come as no surprise to him, but it was still nerve-wracking nonetheless. Forget the people watching; it was the man he was singing with himself that made Harry want to curl into a ball.

_“And we'll take it slow, and grow as we go”_

“Potter.” Malfoy’s shocked face transformed quickly into a look of complete rage, his knuckles white from his grip on his microphone. “Stop -”

_“Grow as we go, grow as we go. Grow as we go.”_

Harry recklessly kept singing off-pitch as he heard whispers in the crowd. He didn’t care in the slightest. His eyes were glued to Malfoy, who was looking more and more likely to cut his throat as the song went on.

 _“I don't know who we'll become, I can't promise it's not written in the stars -”_ Harry sang to Malfoy earnestly, smiling shakily as he walked one step closer to him, surprised his legs hadn’t entirely given out on him yet.

 _But I believe that when it's done, we're gonna see that it was better, that we grew up together”_ Malfoy visibly huffed and turned to leave, but Harry grabbed his wrist, pleading with him with his face not to go as he sang straight to him.

_Tell me you don't wanna leave, 'cause if change is what you need, you can change right next to me. When you're high, I'll take the lows, you can ebb, and I can flow, we'll take it slow, and grow as we go.”_

If his wide eyes were anything to go by, the Slytherin clearly didn’t know whether to stay or flee, but he hadn’t seized his hand back yet from where Harry had a firm grip, so Harry took that as a good sign.

 _“Grow as we go...grow as we…”_ Harry kept pushing his luck, his hand with his mic shaking as he stared Malfoy down, unable to face anyone else right now. 

Harry’s heart hammered in his chest as Malfoy’s lips began to upturn in a small smile -

\- until a screeching voice took him out of his mesmerized state.

“Harry Jiminy Oscar George Sodding Potter, you get down from that bloody stage this instant!” 

Harry was met with the sight of one enraged Pansy Parkinson right below him, arms crossed, her manicured nails tapping incessantly at his elbow.

“What is your damn middle name anyway? No, no, it doesn’t matter, and I don’t care! Just get your ruddy arse down from there right now. We need to speak. Now!”

Harry turned back to where Malfoy had been standing and found an empty spot, a mic placed on the ground where the man had just been standing. 

He was going to kill Parkinson.

***

“So?! What do you have to say for yourself?!”

Harry had to admit, being surrounded by four rather angry Slytherins in the eighth year common room was quite intimidating and hadn’t been in his plan for the evening. Yet here he was, sitting in a circle that contained Pansy Parkinson, who looked like a hungry vampire that wanted nothing more than to bite Harry and suck all his blood most grotesquely. 

Blaise Zabini, who Harry knew was relatively close to Malfoy, hadn’t lifted his stern gaze from Harry the entire time. 

Millicent Bulstrode was sitting behind Harry, but he figured she was probably there for her brute strength if it ever came down to that. 

Theodore Nott seemed to be filling a similar role, except without Millicent’s brains, as he was staring off into the abyss and not paying a lick of attention to the proceedings. 

“Well?!” 

“Where’s Draco?” Harry asked, completely ignoring their question to him. 

Harry twitched at the sound of Nott cracking his knuckles, but at least Nott managed to look apologetic about it when he realized he nearly scared the living shit out of the Gryffindor.

Blaise rolled his eyes.

“I always knew you were dense, Potter. But this? This is beyond even for you.”

A sudden prick of annoyance hit him at that. “Okay, that’s fine, and I am sure I deserve that; however, I feel as though I am missing something here? I mean, I understand you lot being angry with me for embarrassing Malfoy up there -”

They all laughed loudly at that, startling Harry and only fueling his exasperation. “What! He was clearly flustered -”

“Our Draco? _Embarrassed_?!” Pansy smirked and rolled her eyes as if Harry had just stated that she had pink hair and turned into a goblin in the moonlight.

“No, you prat,” Bulstrode added, “He was angry.”

“And Draco can get quite famously angry. Trust us,” Blaise said with a smirk that was a tad bit frightening.

“But, this was different.” Pansy sighed as if the whole thing was taking a toll on her.

Harry could relate. This was getting ridiculous.

“He was smiling at me! Until you -” he pointed to a haughty-looking Parkinson, “- screamed at me. And then he flew away faster than a Cornish Pixie.”

Blaise rolled his eyes so far up in his head, Harry was afraid they might get stuck up there. “No, you twat, that wasn’t it.”

Parkinson managed to look somewhat sheepish. “Well, Draco doesn’t like it when we get involved in his personal life. And acts like a petulant child whenever we do. There’s nothing to be done about it.”

“Even though he tells us all about it anyway, unasked even,” Theo muttered miserably.

“The reason why we have kidnapped you from your lovely lions is for you to understand the impact you have made on our best friend. And trust me when I say, we have tried for _years_ to get him to stop with this infa- I mean, this erm -”

Seeing the silver-tongued Pansy Parkinson of all people muck up her words was quite the sight, but Harry couldn't care less and wanted her to spit it out already.

She straightened herself up and took a deep breath, clearly preparing herself for whatever it was that she was going to say.

“Listen, Potty. We don’t quite understand what has gone through Draco’s head this year. At first, we thought it was all a farce. Some joke or laugh at your expense.”

Blaise kept his thunderous eyes to him as she spoke, and Harry gulped, looking back to her.

“But we soon realized that this was real for him. The songs, and all that heartfelt rubbish. Ridiculously Hufflepuff if you ask me.” She faked gagging, and Bulstrode sniggered. 

Harry had to remember how to breathe again.

_It was him, the whole time_

He knew it was true from the moment when he sang that song, but hearing it come from one of Malfoy’s comrades made it all the more real. 

“What is it with everyone suddenly fancying you anyway?” She huffed. “You don’t have that much going for you. You still wear those old ruddy glasses, are clearly oblivious to anything going on, and have hardly grown much muscle from the past decade! What is there to be so obsessed about?!”

 _Malf-Draco was obsessed with me..._ Harry thought, giddy with the knowledge.

But Pansy carried on as if she believed Harry was listening intently to her belittling him with every breath she took. 

"We must have heard Draco moan and groan your name a total of a thousand times over the years. It’s always ‘Potter this’ or ‘Potter that’ or ‘Can you believe the gall of that ridiculous half-blood?’ and one of my all-time favorites: ‘How dare Potter walk around looking like that? He must know some of us are trying to live over here.’”

Harry’s grin grew, and he watched as Pansy only glared at his reaction. Blaise, on the other hand, looked more amused than anything at his friend’s outburst. 

“Well, Potter, we will ask again, what do you have to say for yourself? And how are you going to fix this mess? That is, _if_ you want to fix it.”

Harry knew that was a test, and he wasn’t planning on failing it.

Even though he wasn’t quite sure what it was, he did wrong. 

“I - I will have to make him feel comfortable with me once again. So, I will have to make it up to him. I didn’t mean to hurt him...with erm, whatever I did.” Pansy scoffed, but Harry rushed on. 

“I know it was probably bad timing; what I did tonight, and yelling at him in the Potions classroom…”

“Ding ding ding.” Blaise annoyingly sang in Harry’s ear. 

“-But I am...relieved it’s him. And happy. And I wanted him to know how I feel and that it’s reciprocated.”

Pansy’s stern expression softened minutely. 

“And I guess the first idea that popped into my mind was…”

“Hop up onto the stage and make a complete arse of yourself?” Theo added from behind him, oh so helpfully.

Harry pursed his lips. “Yes. That.”

Suddenly, Pansy got a gleam in her eyes and leaned over to Blaise, whispering something frantically in his ear. “Oh, yes. Brilliant.”

“What?!” Harry muttered in irritation. He was getting tired of the Slytherins antics at this point and wanted to be left alone in peace to think about how to fix his dilemma. He must have outwardly said that as well, as Pansy’s expression became even more devilish. 

“Oh no, Potter. We have something special in store for you.”

***

“Can I talk with you guys?”

Ron and Hermione exchanged a quick glance before nodding to him, synchronized. 

The snakes left once they all came to a compromise, and Ron and Hermione, as well as some of the others, trickled into the common room soon after, catching Harry sitting by the fireplace, deep in thought about the night’s events. 

He felt a pang of something ugly in his chest because he couldn’t help but notice there was no sign of Draco anywhere.

“I spoke with some Slytherins just now.”

“Yes, we gathered.” Hermione quipped, her eyes nothing but kind towards him now, which he appreciated more than she knew, as she sat delicately down on the loveseat right next to Ron, across from Harry.

“Yeah - urgh. They, erm...well. They want me to make it up to Malfoy.”

“Make it up? All you tried to do was that barmy duet with him! Which, by the way, mate, was a bit weird, and you are going to have to explain that one - _ouch_!”

Hermione pinched the redhead’s leg, gesturing at Harry to continue. 

“And I think they’re right. I owe it to him. At first, I thought he was embarrassed about the whole thing, but speaking with them, he’s apparently just angry. More so about our fight that happened a week ago.”

Hermione pursed her lips. “I’m not so sure I believe it’s only anger that he’s feeling right now, but go on.”

“Slytherins are a loyal bunch and wouldn’t say anything the other wouldn’t want out. They were annoyingly close-mouthed about certain...things.”

“I gather you figured it out then?” Hermione’s mouth was upturned in a humorous grin of sorts.

Harry looked down at his lap; he blamed the heat from the fireplace for feeling so hot all of a sudden, “Yeah, I think I have.”

Ron looked back and forth between his mates with a growing look of exasperation. “What are you two going on about? Do you -” He looked straight at Harry, a bit green around the gills when he asked,

"Do you fancy him?" 

Swallowing thickly, Harry nodded, still staring down at his lap.

“And he clearly fancies you,” Hermione said, biting her lip to hide her smug grin.

Ron only frowned, his brows crossing over themselves in confusion. "Are you two mad? Malfoy fancying Harry? And Harry! What about your song-sending lover boy? This is all bloody insane!" 

Hermione looked at Ron with a look of pure fatigue. 

“Yes Ron, Typhon is Draco. Draco is Typhon.”

“The whole bloody time?!”

Harry sniggered into his hand as Hermione explained everything to Ron until he finally nodded in understanding. “Blimey...that is certainly something, Harry.”

“Yeah - you're telling me.”

Hermione muttered something about men under her breath before saying, “So? What are you going to do to get your boy back?”

Harry’s eyes lit up; he was always thankful for his friends, but here and now, he felt as though he could accomplish anything if he had their complete support.

Including winning Draco Malfoy back.

But a part of his mind wonders if he ever had him to start with.

***

By that next day Harry wanted to murder Malfoy, along with rip out his own hair from pure frustration and throw his mobile in the Black Lake, as new songs started to appear.

_An ending fitting for the start_  
_You twist and tore our love apart_  
_Your light fingers threw the dark_  
_Shattered the lamp and into darkness it cast us_  
_No, you've got it the wrong way round_  
_You shut me up, and blamed it on the brown_

Harry wanted to find Malfoy, grab him, and strangle him for sending him what was, _of course,_ the most _dramatic_ Muggle songs that probably ever existed on the face of the planet.

But he also wanted to, just as severely, find him and snog the shit out of him. 

Clearly, powerful opposing forces were running through his mind.

_Cornered the boy, kicked out at the world_  
_The world kicked back a lot fuckin' harder now_  
_The little things you like stick, and I like aerosol_  
_Don't give a fuck, not giving up, I still want it all_  
_Only fools fall for you, only fools_  
_Only fools do what I do, only fools fall_

Damn him. 

The more he thought about Malfoy being Typhon, the more irritated and amused he became. He became much more upset with himself for not figuring it out until he had him right in front of his face singing practically to him. 

A few times, he came so close to sending Malfoy something in response, just to try to wrangle another response from him, but when he cornered and asked Parkinson if that would be a good idea, she had just cackled. 

So clearly not doing that. 

He spent most of his time planning the mission ‘GTFB’ or ‘Get the Ferret Back’ as Seamus lovingly called it. 

Seamus, Ron, Dean, and of course Harry himself, were working on an all-out plan that the Slytherins had concocted for him that consisted of Cher, fancy lights, and of course...more karaoke. 

Once this whole debacle was over, Harry wasn’t ever going to step foot in another karaoke bar. Well at least for another month.

Dean managed to transfigure an old tattered book into an old ragged...piece of wood set up by one of the outer Hogwarts walls. Harry added some stone steps and charmed the wood to hover off the ground a few feet. 

The four men looked up at their masterpiece with expressions varying from unimpressed to delighted. 

Harry asked why not just use magic to amplify the music, but Seamus shook his head resolutely. He didn’t ask any more questions. 

Seamus had some sort of electronic contraption that Harry could plug his mobile into so that he could play the songs on a speaker with no magic. They were a bit hesitant at first, but after a test run and practically blowing their eardrums out from playing a song on full blast, Harry had complete faith in their setup. 

They then visited the Headmistress' office to ask if this would be okay - and she only gave them a long-suffering sigh and offered them biscuits. “As long as I don’t have to listen to your -- what I can only imagine being -- _grating_ singing voice Potter, then that’s fine. Just don’t let Filch find out. I don’t want to be the one who deals with him.” 

Harry wasn’t sure if he was relieved or offended, but McGonagall gave him a wink as they left and took it as a gift of good luck. 

He smiled around his bite of biscuit, hoping it would calm his nerves.

***

Harry had to hold his stomach he was laughing so hard as Seamus dragged Ron and Dean out onto the dance floor and tried to intimidate them both with his horrid dancing abilities, specifically his ‘grind and pop’ as he frequently called it.

The Singing Banshee had decided to take a break from their karaoke for the week; the workers must have been as tired of it all as they were. Instead, they had made room for a small area where their patrons could dance the night away.

When Seamus split his abhorrently tight trousers in his attempt at the splits, Zabini decided to join in and cleaned the floor with them, much to Seamus’s anguish. 

Malfoy brought Harry a drink over to where he stood as he turned to watch the commotion before them. 

“I would never have imagined that Weaselbee had the bollocks to dance in front of others,” he noted under his breath so just Harry could hear, watching as Harry took an experimental sniff, eyeing the drink with unease. 

His eyebrows lifted in hilarity at Harry’s expression. “I assure you, I didn’t poison it. This time.”

Harry raised an eyebrow of his own at that. “Noted...and I don’t particularly care for vodka.” 

A few seconds passed, Harry sipping lightly at the drink, noting with fondness that Malfoy must have charmed the glass into something else when he wasn’t looking because he now tasted his familiar go to firewhiskey. 

A few seconds passed before Neville and Luna both decided to join in on the havoc on the dancefloor, Luna performing what looked to be some sort of ceremonial dance to bring about - something or another. 

Draco turned slightly to Harry, nudging him with his arm, “I just have one question for you, Potter.”

“ _Oh_ , and what's that?"

“Cher? Really?”

Harry had to bite his lip before an ineloquent snort came out. 

He offered a hand to Draco, a coy look across his face. “Want to dance?” 

Draco’s eyes widened for a split second before taking the offered hand. 

“You do realize there are people around us. Surely you know better than to embarrass yourself to that degree? Oh wait, that’s right, you have no measure on that at all, do you? Want to go ahead and nail your coffin of mortification shut then?”

“I don’t embarrass,” Harry answered easily, pulling Draco closer until they were inches apart, one hand grazing the back of his head while the other held the man’s hand rather tightly, his actions not fitting with his words.

“Hmm...we’ll see about that.” Harry laughed, dragging him even closer, steadfastly ignoring the hooping and hollering from the group of Gryffindors from the other table. 

Harry muttered an incantation and suddenly another familiar song started in from the DJ. 

He knew Draco was rolling his eyes; he didn’t even have to look at him. 

_I won't leave, no I won't surrender_  
_Yeah, I'll wait till the end of, the end of time_  
_You are my glitter and my gloom_  
_I am so numb without you_

He finally leaned back with an answering smirk. “You sodding Gryffindors and your sentiments. I am glad, however, that you’ve finally done something about this abhorrent crush on me, Potter, as it was getting quite out of hand for some time now.”

Harry only shook his head in disbelief, biting his bottom lip in amusement before airly replying, “Oh, right! Remind me again, who was the one sending songs behind a mask all year? Songs that, more or less, professed love to the other? The other being me in this scenario.”

At that admission, Draco’s face lit up in pink splotches, and Harry didn’t know if he wanted to pummel the man or snog the lights out of him.

So he chose the latter. 

_I won't leave, no I won't surrender_  
_Yeah, I'll wait till the end of, the end of time_  
_You are my glitter and my gloom_  
_I am so numb without you_

**Author's Note:**

> make sure to check out the other incredible works for this fest [ here](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/HD_Owlpost_2020)!
> 
> ❤️


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